


Destiny's Opus: Overture

by Nendil



Series: Destiny's Opus [2]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: F/M, Slow Build, Slow To Update, believe it or not, just slow everything okay, not technically dead fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2004-09-09
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25801150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nendil/pseuds/Nendil
Summary: Sequel to Destiny's Opus: Finale. Seven years can come and go, but if we were to meet again, will anything have changed? A tale of growing up twice over and of things lost and found.
Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Series: Destiny's Opus [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1871830





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing belongs to me, except the overly-long storyline.
> 
> This is a direct sequel to _Destiny's Opus: Finale_ , but you can probably follow along if you pick up straight from the end of Ocarina of Time. I've applied my own interpretation to many things the game never gave us, but (hopefully) there will be little to no contradictions to canon. **Update:** as of Twilight Princess, this fic is no longer canon-compliant due to a few background details. Not going to stop my plans, though!
> 
> This story covers the span of seven years, and at my pace it'll take like ten times as long to write. Don't wait up for me...

Oh, you've come...

The words were in her mind, in her throat, but somehow they were lost to the whisper of the wind before she could voice them. Zelda stared at the Kokiri boy before her, her heart alight with a thousand emotions. Relief mixed with irrational anxiety. Joy amidst the taste of bittersweet. What has happened to her since this parting?

Had there been a parting? Had it been that long? Yet it feels like a lifetime had passed away since their last meeting, though it was only five, no, six days since she had last seen his face. She had counted while she waited and whiled away those days. Waited for the end of Evil's reign. Waited for his return. Simply waited.

Time was fleeting, and the world had been dark. Water had dripped onto her knees as she huddled beside Impa in a deep grotto beneath Kakariko's old graveyard, moisture and dirt soaking into the light silk dress she had not had time to change out of. Hidden away in the narrow tunnel with next to no knowledge of outside news, Zelda could only pray for her father, herself, and the future of her land, her mind conjuring horrible images fueled by memories of foreboding dreams.

And often, though she had known it was selfish, she prayed for the brave boy in green she last glimpsed at the city gates, his face tense with shock and resolve. Had he heard, by now, the message spell she had hurriedly woven into the Ocarina with all her heart? Or had Ganondorf's nightmare-black steed cruelly trampled him down? The latter thought was too horrible to bear, yet she could not help but morbidly wonder, for the possibility was all too real and she had no way of knowing. It was too dark beneath the earth, beneath the sky looming with smoke-gray clouds, and try as she might, Zelda heard nothing from the world above but the croaks of passing Guay.

It was dusk of the second day when the light came to her. At first it was merely a fluttering in the air, like an echo of wind from somewhere far away, but then it grew until the tension swirled all around her. Zelda had been frightened, alone as she was in the dark, wishing that Impa had not left her for something as trivial as scouting for news. But at length she felt something shifting inside her, building up a sort of ticklish feeling in her heart, and then her breath caught in her throat and light filled her vision until she could see nothing more.

She had awoken to Impa's anxious face, the dark-painted Sheikah mouth speaking to her many blurry things she had been too dazed to make sense of at the time. Some of it she still did not understand now, and she thought some perhaps eluded even her wise nursemaid's grasp. Still, Zelda managed to glean bits of perplexing news even in her confusion: Ganondorf had vanished from Hyrule without sight or sound, a part of the holy Triforce had somehow chosen her as its guardian, and most puzzling of all, the Master Sword stood firmly in its pedestal, with no sign of the boy who had loosened it from its slumber.

Though the land now seemed to settle back into normality, Zelda found it hard to settle her heart with the same ease. The looming threat had passed them by like a bad dream, and with it, a feeling that something enormous, that perhaps should-have would-have been, had been averted. The world seemed still unreal to her, as if some subtle detail was out of tune amidst the recovering kingdom.

Floundering for solidity, she looks now to Link, hoping there would be some sign, some hint from the heavens that this was not some trick of the light, or another one of her vivid dreams.

"I'm back," he says.

And suddenly, the spell is broken.

"Link!" She flies down the steps to meet him, flinging her arms around his shoulders and knocking him nearly off balance. "I was so worried... Ever since Ganondorf's defeat I've been waiting for news. We didn't know what had happened to you when you opened the portal to the Sacred Realm, and I was afraid I might never see you again..."

Link abruptly pushes away from her, faint alarm gleaming in his eyes. "You don't... remember?"

"What do you mean? Of course I remember - don't you?" Puzzlement brushes her mind as she tries to determine what he was supposed to remember and she was not. "Oh—I guess you might not know, if you've been gone all this time... What happened to you, Link?"

He ignores her question, and grips her by the arms. "Tell me what happened."

"With Ganondorf and the Triforce, you mean? Well, this is only what I've heard from Impa, but... After you pulled out the Master Sword in the Temple of Time, Ganondorf broke through the gateway you opened and entered the Sacred Realm. He got his hands on the Triforce... but somehow it sealed him into the Sacred Realm before he could escape." Her nerves falter for a moment, but the words burst out regardless, "I was so scared that you had been sealed inside too, and nobody knew where you were..."

His eyes had grown oddly wide. "I was... I went back to the forest. To... see if everything was okay there." He swallows. "It took a couple of days."

"So was everything okay?" Surely it was, or else why would he be standing here so quietly before her? She barely waits for his mute nod before picking up her thoughts, "I didn't think things would turn out like this... Do you think Ganondorf's really gone?"

"Yeah, he's—" Link struggles over his words for a moment. "I, uh, I'm pretty sure he won't be coming back anytime soon."

"How do you know?"

Link hesitates, as if weighing shadows in his mind. "I think I saw him, in the Sacred Realm," he says, very quietly. "He was angry."

"No wonder, since we thwarted his ambition so badly..." She frowns. "You met him in there? Wasn't it dangerous? Did he... did he do anything to you?"

"No, I think we just... passed by each other..." A lost expression crosses his face, but he shakes it off quickly. "But the Triforce - it's safe, right?"

She nods earnestly, glad for a topic she could actually explain. "Do you know, the ancient legends actually came true! The Triforce split up into three pieces, because the one who touched it was not pure of heart... Ganondorf claimed Power, but he couldn't reach the other two parts. Somehow the Triforce of Wisdom came to me, and there's still the third piece, Courage; we're not sure of its whereabouts..."

Wordlessly Link turns up his left hand to her. There, shining golden on the back of his hand, is the unmistakable emblem of the sacred triangle.

"So you are the third chosen bearer! That symbol appeared on my hand too. It's not as bright as yours now, but at first..." She lays her hands over his, noticing that her own mark grew more luminous in response. "What do you suppose are the chances, that we—"

_(stones crumbling running through fire an enormous monster, wielding twin weapons as big as—)_

She blinks in shock, and the image is gone. "Link, what...?"

He had abruptly turned quite pale. "Nothing... that was nothing. I don't know what..." But Zelda notices him hurriedly tucking his hands behind his back.

"Just then... I thought I saw..."

Link quickly shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. It's not... Everything's over now."

A strained silence drops between them. Zelda wanted to ask further, but something in his tight voice makes her pause. He seems so brittle all of a sudden, all hard edges and unbudging glass and not at all like the eager forest child who surprised her in her courtyard months ago. In spite of herself, a bubble of concern grows in her heart - just what had he seen during his time in the Sacred Realm?

Gingerly she reaches out to touch his arm. "Link, are you really okay...?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He slips away from her hand, and gives her a brief smile that she tries to believe is heartfelt. "I'm glad to be back. It's nice to be able to see you again."

The tone of his voice still worries her, but before she can find the words to form a question, a thought seems to strike him, and he pulls something from his pockets. "I came to return the Ocarina. I thought you might... want it back..."

She takes the small instrument from him carefully, fearing as though she might, somehow, break something in this fragile moment. "Thank you," she whispers, wanting to say much more but not knowing the words. "Thank you for everything, Link."

Link takes a deep breath and steps back, a strange light in his eyes. "I guess... this is good-bye, then. Since the threat to Hyrule's over, I shouldn't be sneaking into the castle anymore..."

"Oh, no!" She clasps her hands to her breast in an earnest plea. "Please, I would like it very much if you could come visit again... It would be nice to have someone to talk to besides just Impa and the castle guards, and they're all so boring..."

A visible breath of relief seems to melt over him. "You wouldn't mind?"

"Of course not!" Had he been worried all this time over such a simple thing, after all he's done? Her heart leaps at the unspoken sentiment, but Zelda stifles it with a giggle and drops into a practiced curtsy. "As Crown Princess of Hyrule, it would be my pleasure to extend to thee, Link of the Kokiri, a formal invitation to the castle grounds upon any occasion, by royal authority, and sanctioned decree, and such-and-such boring officialities. _Now_ wouldst thou accept?"

His face warms into a genuine grin, and at last her world grows a little bit brighter. He matched her with an equally mock-serious bow, "It would be my pleasure, Princess."


	2. Chapter 2

And so, the Princess of Hyrule became fast friends with the boy from the forest, who surprised her at her window on warm hazy mornings or sun-dappled afternoons, always with a wide smile and that floppy green hat. She would throw down her studies and rush to meet him in the garden, unmindful of Impa's chastisements, because how often did a princess get the chance to trade her courtly inhibitions for childish games and silliness?

Often enough, it turned out. Zelda's new playmate visited her every few days, and taught her "unladylike" things she had always yearned to learn for herself: how to skip stones and climb trees, and sneak around the patrolling guards without being seen. Link showed her how to whistle on grass blades, and caught tiny slippery fish from the castle moat that made her squeal and giggle as they wriggled in her cupped hands.

In turn, she introduced him to the worlds in her books, and many rainy days were spent in a musty corner of the castle library, with the two children huddled together over an oversized tome. She read out loud her favorite parts for him, the descriptions of ancient magics and legends and scholarly research, and at times he would surprise her by volunteering some obscure detail not even the books had known. When she inquired him further, however, Link would only smile and shrug, and suggest that perhaps it was part of some forgotten forest lore.

On rare occasions they even sneaked out of the castle entirely, him leading the way and peeking around corners, her following close behind, dressed in the plainest clothes she could find from her wardrobe. They would duck behind hedges and scale vine-covered walls, crawling through tight holes that dirtied her knees. And when they finally blended into the milling crowds of Hyrule Castle Town, it was as if a locked door had been flung open wide, and they would spend a whole day darting from the Shooting Gallery (Link always let her go first, though he still out-scored her every time) to Bombchu Bowling (for some reason she had better skill here than he), or munching on delicacies from local vendors until their fingers were sticky with sugar and grease, or simply sitting together by the fountain in the center of the town square, and watching couples waltz by as the sun dipped below the rooftops.

Yet more than just lighthearted diversions, these excursions into town also taught her about life outside the castle, both in common joys and bitter hardships. Zelda always stopped to leave alms for the beggars in the west side of town, and they would save their leftover snacks for the numerous stray dogs that wandered the back alleys. She was yet too small to influence her father's rule over the kingdom, but the young princess filed these memories away for her future days, just in case. She was certain that if she looked long enough, she would find the proper solution in her books one day. Someday...

.

Despite having lived at the castle all her life, only now, with Link's influence, did her world come alive with freshly uncovered secrets and delights. A butterfly turned into a fairy when prodded just so; hidden caverns unearthed their entrances only when it rained. Zelda regretted that she could not visit Link's home with the same free abandon, so he brought her tokens from the forest instead: tart juicy berries that stained her fingers purple, strange bugs in a jar, even her very own Kokiri-style tunic, woven from some mysterious form of Deku leaf fiber. (He admitted that the last had not been his own handiwork.)

Sometimes, he would bring her a blue-white blossom, with petals unfurled wide like mist from a water spray. It was always a bit wilted from his journey to the castle, but the refreshing sweet scent it emitted lingered long after she preserved the flower between pages of her books.

"It's called a snowflower, and it only grows in one place in the Lost Woods, as far as the Kokiri know," Link had explained, fidgeting a little with his fingers. "It's supposed to stand for faith, and a clear heart. Sometimes we trade it as a sign for a promise, but, um, also it smells nice."

"What are you promising me?" Zelda teased, flashing him a coy look as she raised the flower to her nose. It did indeed smell nice.

He returned her glance with a steady look more serious than her mood expected. "What would you like me to promise?"

She had smiled, and said nothing.

.

The idle days of summer passed by quickly, and a restless energy seemed to fill the air as cool winds swept away the thick lazy heat. The courts began to bustle with autumn activity, tournaments and banquets demanding the Princess's presence even though she had bored of them ages ago. Zelda found herself tumbling into bed worn-out more often than not, and though she hadn't noticed how or when, her free time for frolicking evaporated as if it, too, were dispersed by the chill breeze.

She sensed, too, a distant preoccupation from Link, and knew that the winds carried away his thoughts as well to foreign lands and far-flung adventures. He no longer visited her as frequently, and sometimes forgot to respond to her words, his eyes distracted by something that lay within her or beyond her or somewhere she couldn't grasp. Zelda held onto his hand a little more often during their strolls over the castle grounds, hoping that she could pull his heart back and keep him here. It only seemed to stifle him more, however, and though he squeezed her hand back as warmly as ever, she knew there was no fighting the will of a young adventurer set into motion.

The wind blew again, and the first leaves of autumn fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Yo guess what this chapter was written waaay before Breath of the Wild came out, but it turns out that "snowflowers" are totally ancestors of Silent Princesses now. Yup that's definitely what happened._


	3. Chapter 3

"You are already leaving this land of Hyrule, aren't you?"

Link glances at her as they walk through the courtyard, though there was no surprise in his expression. She had already suspected it for a time, and he must have known as well. There was little they could hide from each other, it seems.

"So many things have happened, since I first left the forest..." He looks up at a twittering bird, as if it somehow distracted him. "I think... I need to get away for a while, just to... to sort out everything." He sits down on the cool stone steps, and she follows suit beside him.

"I want to find Navi. She's been a close friend to me, and... I guess I miss having her around. It's hard to get used to, after all that time..." He pauses, and looks at her apologetically. "I don't know how long I'll be gone."

It was a hard fact, but one she had known to expect. "I understand," she says, with all the regal maturity she knows to muster.

Link doesn't meet her eyes. "I'm sorry for... leaving you so soon. It's just..."

Zelda shakes her head and lays her hand over his. "Even though it was only a short time, I feel like I've known you forever," she admits softly, half to herself as much as to him. "You've been a wonderful friend, Link. You always will be, to me. I could not have asked for more."

"Zelda..."

"I'll never forget the days we spent together in Hyrule," she whispers, raising her eyes to his face. "And I believe, in my heart... a day will come when I shall meet you again." For it was true, she was certain - the bond she feels in her heart would not permit their separation, not for too long.

"Until that time comes, please... take this..."

The smooth coolness of lavender-blue porcelain, a drop of frozen time within her cupped hands. Much as how she had anticipated his journey, she had also prepared, after much thought, a suitable memento for their parting. Their fingers brush for a moment with the passing of the ocarina, and Zelda feels a strange flash of nostalgia. Have they done this before? Would this happen again?

Link grins at her playfully. "It might be a bit dangerous, me taking such a valuable treasure out on a rough adventure..."

She smiles back at him. "That is why I chose this gift. I hope the Ocarina's magic will be helpful to you, on your 'rough adventure'." I hope you would not need it, she adds silently, but knows it was a faint hope at best. "I am praying... I am praying that your journey be a safe one. But I fear that perils may befall you, and I would not be there to know..."

Link squeezes her hand. "I can take care of myself, Zel."

"I know. But, I cannot shake this feeling that you will be in need of assistance..." She takes the ocarina from his hands, and lightly raises it to her lips. "If something should happen to you, remember this song..."

The solemn tune trickles from between her fingertips, resonating like the echo of a memory. She glances up at Link between notes, and finds him watching her with an untelling expression in his eyes. The last time she played the sacred melody, months ago, it had been for him as well. _This song reminds me of us..._

"The Song of Time," Link muses as she lowers the instrument. "I thought that was only a spell to move stone walls. How's it going to help me outside Hyrule?"

"It is more than just a key to the Door of Time. As you are one of the chosen by the Goddesses, I believe they will also look upon you if you call in time of need." She touches the back of his left hand lightly, feeling a faint tingle pass beneath her fingertips. "The Goddess of Time is protecting you. If you play the Song of Time, she may aid you..."

Link still looks skeptical, but he takes the ocarina from her and tucks it away carefully into his tunic. "Thank you," he says, and falls quiet.

A silent moment hangs taut between them, as delicate as a spider's strand. If they were to meet again, many courts and journeys later, and were not the same souls they remembered, will anything have changed?

"Don't forget me." The words tumble free in a quick rush, and Zelda allows herself to be overcome by a brief twinge of pathos.

His eyes widen in shock. "I would never."

"I know." She giggles, and, feeling particularly playful at the indignant expression on his face, leans over and kisses him on the cheek. Link nearly tumbles out of his seat, turning hilariously beet-red in a second. And then he throws a berry at her and it was all half-forgotten, lost amidst gleeful shrieks and tickle fights that made a mess of her once-white dress yet again.

And so the day came to an end, and it was like any other, save for the wistful distance that lingered between them as the sun set. It was the end, Zelda finally admits to herself, though she had tried to ignore it for as long as she could. But only for a while, she quickly amends. Only for a little while.

.

Link departs early on a cool, foggy morning, after dropping by to bid her a last farewell. They stood together awkwardly for a time, both at a loss for appropriate sentiments. Finally, he presses into her hand a single snowflower, and its dew-coated petals still smell sweet in the crisp autumn air, and though her vision is blurry from the wetness in the air or in her eyes, she smiles at him bravely and mouths some words of goodbye that she could not remember saying.

She watches until his form disappears into the white mist, waiting for something that turns out to be really nothing at all. Then, at last, she turns and heads for the castle all by herself. The courts awaited their Princess.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You thought I was kidding when I said this story would take seven years to write? :P The truth is that I'm an artist who's really not a writer by nature, so even though this story wants to be told, it doesn't come quickly. So my suggestion for all y'all is to subscribe to this fic and forget about it, because it might be another year (or five) before I manage to update again!_

Though she had expected to spend much of her time missing Link's presence, Zelda finds herself all too well-distracted by her increasing load of responsibilities. The King has largely recovered from his wounds since Ganondorf's thwarted coup, though he still tired easily and often called on his daughter to manage minor court duties, saying that she needed the practice sooner than later. In addition to her usual lessons of history, letters, and geography, Impa has insisted that Zelda begin studying philosophy and diplomatic tactics to prepare for her new burdens. It was fascinating but difficult material to digest, and even when Zelda dozed off to half-conscious dreams at night, her mind is left cluttered with baited words and delicate courtesies to unravel like some great mess of a Skulltula web.

On the eve of her eleventh birthday, Impa brings with her the topic of yet another field of study, though this was one rather more exciting. "It's time for you to begin your magical training," she says, in the middle of brushing Zelda's hair.

"Really? Already?"

"It is usually customary for women in the royal family to train in magic starting at the age of fourteen, after their Unveiling Ceremony. However, in your case..." Impa shoots her a meaningful glance, and Zelda self-consciously clenches her right hand. "Your father has agreed that it would be prudent to familiarize you with the arts as early as possible."

Zelda beams, feeling smug about having explored the library on her own time. "Impa, I already know how to use magic."

"Hmph. Hardly." The Sheikah woman shakes her head with amused exasperation. "Your short-range force affect is crude but passable, and you can hold a rudimentary flame. Mere parlor tricks for any competent student of magic. Do you expect to command the responsibility of the Triforce's power with these amusements?"

"I can do message spells too," Zelda starts to say, but Impa presses on unheeding. "You are talented, child, but the enchantments you've scrabbled together are barely scratches on the surface of magical discipline. Through a combination of precocious aptitude and luck you've managed to kick up a few embers, but I think you will discover that method will soon run you into a wall."

It was true - Zelda had selected to practice only the few spells she could get working; most she could not even achieve a spark in reaction, though of course she never let on any of this. "Well... What am I supposed to do, then?"

The reflection of Impa in the mirror smiles knowingly. "It is not a question of what, but _how_."

"Impa! Stop being so cryptic and just tell me!"

"Hrm." Impa sets down the hairbrush, and looks her over with a critical eye. "First, we will have to open your mind."

.

That was how Zelda found herself on an early-morning excursion up the pebbly trails of Death Mountain. She had managed to nod off for the first leg of the trip, but now as the sun finally rises high enough to warm her face over the mountain peaks, the strange rock formations and etched cliff faces - images she had only before known from book illustrations - capture her wide-eyed attention. Impa told her that she had visited the summit once prior, when the King brought the young Princess to establish kinship bonds with the Goron tribe leader, but that was so many years ago it may as well have never happened. Now for the first time she can remember, she was traveling a significant distance beyond the city walls, where paths are unpaved and the air free from the dust and smoke of civilization. Curiosity piqued, Zelda stares out at the massive layered rocks that sweep past her view, wishing she could hop off the caravan and go climbing.

A thudding, rumbling sound alerts her into turning her gaze up the mountain trail. A boulder nearly twice her size is tumbling down the path, kicking up a vicious trail of dust in its wake. "Impa," Zelda begins in alarm, but the Sheikah woman merely holds out her arm to signal a stop for the caravan.

Zelda winces in preparation for the impact, but the boulder crashes to an abrupt stop at Impa's feet, wobbles, and suddenly unfolds itself into a stocky, sandy figure. "Visitors, goro," it says. "Should I report to Big Brother Darunia? Goro."

"The Royal Family wishes to visit the mountain summit," Impa informs the rocky creature. "Please give Darunia our regards, and tell him we shall meet with him shortly."

"Will do, goro." The Goron curls himself once more into a ball, swings a half-circle around the carriage to pick up speed, and zooms back up the path.

"That was a real Goron!" Zelda exclaims to Impa in a hushed voice as the creature rolls away. "I've never seen one in the flesh before! He had rocks on his back and everything—"

"Do not be uncouth, Zelda," the disapproval in Impa's voice comes as a surprise. "Peoples of foreign race may be novel to you, but they need not be treated as an oddity. How would it appear to you if a Goron visitor remarked at every Hylian trait you consider common?"

"Sorry Impa," Zelda tries her best to sound contrite, thinking that she might in fact find it rather funny.

Impa gives her a sidelong glance as their pace picks up again. "Besides," she adds with a slight smile, "seeing how Gorons aren't a fleshy race, perhaps you should say 'in the stone' instead."

.

It isn't long before the mountain path flattens out before them, and the signs of cavernous Goron dwellings become more and more frequent. The caravan stops before a broad doorway strung with banners Zelda couldn't read, where Impa scoops her from her carriage and leads her down a seemingly endless spiral into the heart of Goron City. Zelda tries to count the number of levels they had descended, but the winding path loops her in so many circles that she loses track of passing Gorons and landmarks that all look too much the same.

It is dizzying at the bottom of the deep excavation, oddly akin to if she had just climbed up as much of a height and were now standing at the tip of a precarious tower. Then Zelda realizes it isn't just her legs that are trembling, for a massive, burly Goron is striding forth toward them with thundering footsteps that loosen clattering pebbles from the soil-packed walls. "Sister Impa!" the great Goron bellows, spreading wide arms as thick as pillars and sweeping the Sheikah woman into an alarmingly powerful hug.

Amazingly, Impa does not appear the least bit distressed as she returns the mighty embrace, clapping the Goron leader on his broad back. "It has been a while, old friend."

"A while indeed!" The barrel-like arms release Impa with surprising ease, and Zelda lets out a breath she'd unintentionally been holding. "You are never in the neighborhood any more! Have you been neglecting your own village?"

"It turns out that raising a girl-child consumes rather much of one's time," Impa quips with a smile.

"Oho!" Darunia's great maned head turns to loom down at her, and Zelda takes an involuntary step backwards. "Well, and what have we here?"

"Surely you remember the Princess Zelda. Held her yourself ten years ago, did you not? Be gentle, she is still delicate."

"You've grown, Little Sister!" Darunia grins toothily and lays a hand very carefully on Zelda's head, though the weight of it is already enough to make her knees wobble. "Last time I saw you, you were hardly bigger than a Tektite mite!" He guffaws heartily, rumbling the room with his mighty voice.

"More grown than you might think," Impa remarks. "She is here to receive her first dose of magic."

"Well, don't you Royals grow fast these days," Darunia says, sizing Zelda up and down. "You think you are ready, Little Sister?"

"Um..."

"You will be, don't worry," says Darunia. "The Great Fairy will do you right. Either that or she'll spit you right back out, eh?" The mountain shook again with his uproarious laughter.


	5. Chapter 5

"This way," Darunia said, as he slid aside a blocky statue to reveal the entrance to somewhere _hot_. Zelda buried her face into Impa's bosom as the Sheikah woman carried her swiftly through the cavern, but the heat seemed nearly solid as it pressed in all around her and Zelda feared her ears might singe. And then suddenly the heat left her as if she'd kicked off a thick duvet and Zelda looked up to see the sky, crystal blue and filled with wind that flung itself over the mountaintop and made her eyes water.

"This way," Impa said, motioning her toward an opening in the rocky mountain wall that looked very wide and very dark. "It will be up to you alone to call forth the Great Fairy. Be confident, and remember the designations to your royal birthright. They will open your path."

Zelda does not feel very confident now as she picks her way over the slippery floor towards the only source of light in the cave, a shallow, cleanly-tiled pool that shimmered with cool torchlight. A golden Triforce plaque before the basin of water seems an obviously designated place for her, and so she steps onto the emblem and scrunches up her eyes.

Nothing happened. Zelda opens her eyes and casts around for something she had missed, but nothing else in the narrow cave calls attention to itself as pronouncedly as the golden square she already occupied. She stoops down and presses her right hand to the plaque, but though the matching mark on her hand gives a small glint in response, she felt no particular indication that she had triggered anything.

She curtsies and announces her royal title, all thirty-two words of it, out loud to the fountain and receives only a sense of uncomfortable self-importance for it. She plucks the signet ring from her finger and tosses it into the pool, then has to climb in halfway to fetch it again. She tries to wrest a torch from the wall to look for other clues in the cavern, but it does not budge and seems like it has not for a good few centuries. With hands dusted in soot and the hems of her skirts dripping, Zelda was starting to feel the so-called royal birthright she was supposed to possess crumbling away like so much dried-out biscuit.

So much for Wisdom. Zelda glances back towards the entrance of the cavern, which looks quite dark and far away. More intimidating, however, is to harbor the thought of facing Impa in defeat over such an important, ceremonial thing. _Lack of preparation and forethought is the way of fools and failures,_ no doubt her stern nursemaid would say. Zelda tries to pretend she had already asked for help, and imagines Impa's pre-formed advice.

 _There is a song to solve every occasion,_ the Sheikah woman was fond of answering when presented with the young princess's troubles, and half the time proved it as well. But Zelda had not been taught any Sheikah songs to summon a Fairy, nor one that—

Well. There _was_ one, perhaps - her mind suddenly flashes upon a memory of one golden morning where, in defiance of her explaining to him the Hylian saying about playing music to dead Gossip Stones, Link whistled a tune to one and drew out a pink fairy that danced appreciatively around them before fading like a dandelion on the wind. She had been delighted to find that her lullaby, a mostly-childish thing in her eyes until then, could carry such magic - and just a little tickled at the idea that Link had kept hold of the song she had previously thought of as so intimately hers.

It was better than anything else she had to go on. Keeping the bright thought of him in her mind, Zelda hums the royal lullaby once, her voice sounding very small in the echoing cavern.

She was prepared to expect more of nothing in the way of response, but before she can find a place for disappointment to settle, Zelda notices the pool of water rippling, as if someone had set one of the courtyard fountains into motion. Then suddenly the cavern explodes into life - a giant woman bursts from the pool high into the air with a shriek of laughter, spraying droplets of sparkling water everywhere. Her voice is much too loud, Zelda decides with a wince, and her hair is much too pink. If this is the Great Fairy, then she must have been deemed Great in... flamboyant makeup.

"Welcome, little Princess Zelda!" says the pink-haired visage.

"You—You know my name?" She is wearing not clothing nor tattoos but a lot of... living ivy, Zelda realizes. The effect is... unsettling.

"I am the Great Fairy of Power! Of course I know your name!" The pink ivy woman lets out another peal of laughter before settling down into a more comfortable-looking position in the air, chin propped over two enormous folded hands. "Everyone knows your name, don't they sugar?"

Zelda isn't sure she wanted such a strange woman knowing her name. "W-well, I just thought that, you must have so many people visiting you that, um, you might not know _my_ name, offhand. Per se."

"Oh, not a chance, love." The Great Fairy shakes her head, making the tendrils of her hair bounce in a disconcerting way. "Only a few even make it up here to look for me. And frankly, I don't feel like 'bestowing my favors' on just anybody. They've got to be worth my time. Like that forest kid who dropped by a while back. A messenger of yours, wasn't he?"

"Link? You know him?"

"'Course I did! Bright kid, but always looked a bit pouty. Not that you can blame him, considering what he went through last time around."

"Last time?"

"Never you mind, sugar." The Great Fairy waves her hand dismissively, sending a shower of pink sparkles flying. "So what are you here for? Gonna do that magic awakening thing?"

"How did you know?" Though it doesn't really come as a surprise to Zelda by now.

"Please, darling, that's what everyone's here for. Asking the Great Fairy to bequeath them a bit of magic power, year in year out. As if that's what's going to make a difference in what they make of themselves. And you royals are right on schedule, a new one pops in here every few dozen years. At least you're a lot brighter than the last batch, aren't you?" She chuckles, a sound that reminds Zelda of slippery silk.

"Umm... so, what should I do?"

"Ready to receive your power, are you? Just hold still now." The Great Fairy spreads her palms, and a stream of tiny glittering lights pours out, dancing like sun through crystal chandeliers and sweeping up Zelda in the gentlest of maelstroms. A thousand fragmented sensations blossom throughout every inch of her, sublime like touching faith and tasting light, and each bursts with tiny whispers of overlapping voices that are strange or fiery or comfortable.

_(may the blessing of the forest—)  
(—feels like tickling, haha! perhaps it was—)  
(i await the light of thy—)  
(—why, reminds me of when i last saw—)  
(would that the burden of her power—)  
(—could have sworn, by the sand goddess—)_

_(—? Is that you?)_

Zelda opens her eyes. "I don't understand," she says.

"Of course you don't, sweetheart. That was only a glimpse into your potential. It's one of those things you're not supposed to figure out for years and years, eh?"

"Potential seems awfully noisy," Zelda mutters, wondering if the words were something she should memorize or write down. It seems moot since the memory is fading already despite her best efforts, like a vivid but insignificant dream.

"Well, you're done. Hope you can handle the responsibility better than the last schmuck." The Great Fairy blows a kiss as she shrinks down in size rapidly into nothing but a spray of water and pink glitter. "Come visit me anytime!" her voice echoes off the walls, as the torches flare up one last time before dying down into the same sleepy, centuries-old embers.

.

The sun is so bright at the exit of the cavern that she could see nothing at first, but even as Zelda coaxes her eyes open in degrees, she thinks that perhaps the world had gone awry in her absence, because she thinks she could see shimmers of patterns intricate and powerful in every object, every surface. The rocks of Death Mountain are abuzz with hinted lines, and the sky is even more densely laden with designs, and Impa dances with trailing colors most of all.

At the sight of Zelda gazing about with eyes full of wonder, Impa nods approvingly. "Now, you are ready."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The context of this chapter may be a little confusing. For that I apologize; it is intentional.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** This chapter is rated **T** for intense situations and off-screen violence.

"I have it."

Zelda jumps guiltily at her nursemaid's voice, and fumbles the book back into the gap on the shelves. The wall-sized collection of tomes and volumes has become her sole source of preoccupation of late, but that was a book she should probably not have been reading.

"Come take these to the table, would you?" Impa's face emerges over the lip of the cellar not a moment too soon, looking distinctly dustier than when she had descended some tens of minutes ago. Zelda hurries forward to receive the armload of aged scrolls and parchments, hoping her eagerness would be enough to conceal the heat in her cheeks. The older woman hefts herself over the edge of the floorboards in one fluid movement, then proceeds to stalk around the room, casting a spell of shadow over each of the shuttered windows.

This seemed strange and just a little ominous. Zelda opens her mouth, about to ask the reason for the unfamiliar routine. _Secrecy,_ the word rings in her mind unbidden, and she bites her lip, wondering why she had need to wonder.

Darkness melts across the final window like dripped ink, casting the entire room in mute shadow. Opening her eyes as wide as she could, Zelda could just make out the silhouette of Impa approaching and leaning over the scrolls on the table. "Should I light a candle, Impa?" she offers.

"I do not need light to read the shadow letters," says Impa in a low, distant voice that still carried remnants of spellsong. "And I would not risk an unneeded flame near these ancient documents." She unfurls the thickest of the scrolls, and skims deliberate fingers over the dense lines of script, touching and prodding seemingly at random.

It is a few loaded moments before Impa begins to read aloud, but what issues from her mouth are not sounds a Hylian-trained tongue could reproduce. Zelda did not understand a word of it, isn't even sure if she could isolate the tongue-twisting sounds into words, but there is an undeniable haunting rhythm to the low stream of syllables like song, like enchantment. She takes a seat slightly away from the table, and does not interrupt.

"These are prophesies of Sheikah lore," Impa says in the same low hypnotic voice, and it is a moment before Zelda recognizes her nursemaid is speaking in Hylian again, for her words are colored with an accent that had never been so prominent in her diction as now. "They hold guidance for those who protect the Holy Land of Hyrule."

"What does it say?" Zelda asks, in a meek whisper that carried perhaps only as far as her own ears. Whether the Sheikah woman heard her or not, though, she smoothes a hand over the edges of the parchment and begins to translate, haltingly, but no less artfully.

_"O, Great Land blessed by the Goddesses' favor!  
Thy blessing lends also to thee trials of covetous evil.  
Would that time of Cataclysm looms heavy upon the land,  
Heed ye these words, that ye may find faith and guidance._

_"Upon thy direst hour, a Hero shall descend unto the land,  
Marked by the Blade of Evil's Bane, chosen by Farore's hand.  
Though trials and obstacles challenge his path,  
The Hero's Domain bears to him righteous victory._

_"When Power seeks to corrupt through absolute force, the Hero shall be borne by the Patience of Time._  
_When Shadow holds the world to stagnate in fear, the Hero shall be borne by the Crossroad of Umbra and Light._  
_When Oceans swallow all passage to echoes of Legend, the Hero shall be borne by the Winds over the Waters._

"There is more," sighs Impa, sitting back on her heels, "plenty more. But the descriptions grow more and more far-removed from my understanding, and I am no scholar of scripture. Our salvation, if it exists, must be within these early entries."

"Is... Is a Hero supposed to come and save us?" The words are strange to Zelda even as she voices them, because there was nothing to save—they needed no salvation—they were already saved—weren't they?

"It's as much as we can hope, since I cannot imagine what other cause could be great enough to merit one of these prophesies, if not our current dilemma." Impa's voice carries the hint of a dry smile, despite her solemn words. "As I have found no records nor tales of Heroes wielding the Master Sword itself in Hyrule's documented histories, I will take the audacity to presume we have the honor of being first in line. Here is the passage on the Hero of Time." She bends over the foreign texts again.

"The Hero of Time," Zelda silently tests the words over her tongue, finding their taste unwieldy. The image from her dreams flashes upon her mind in an unsolicited response: lone, green, bright. Sudden tears warm her eyes for reasons she couldn't sort out. Everything was wrong. The Hero was supposed to have stopped the darkness. Is it not already too late for him to salvage their world?

Impa makes a soft huffing sound, the kind she made usually when exasperated by Zelda's antics. "There are only hints here on how the Hero is to achieve his victory. It's no help when we've yet to even confirm or locate the Hero." She rubs her thumb over her brow, as if trying to force brilliance from her scalp. "I wish these prophesies would have hinted a bit more to these heroes' identities."

Zelda fiddles with the folds of her skirt, unease building with a sense of something, somewhere, having gone quite wrong. "What if a Hero never comes?"

"Then perhaps our kingdom will be sundered." Impa shakes her head lightly, and pushes the scrolls away. "But one thing is clear, regardless - the Master Sword marks the Hero, and we know, without a doubt, that one person has managed this now." Her eyes flash pointedly to Zelda.

"Then... Link... has become the Hero of Time?" It was an absurd, foreign thing to imagine of her childhood friend ( _Acquaintance? Errand boy? Were they familiar enough to be considered friends?_ ), yet the phrase rang true with all the certainty of a dream-prophecy. A shiver runs through her at the ponderous fate she has dropped on his thin shoulders.

"He would have to be. No one in centuries has ever been able to budge the Master Sword, and not for lack of trying. For a child so slight to take it up with no resistance..."

"I know it," Zelda murmurs, eyes downcast. "My dreams told me as such." _Stone. Green. Fairy._ The premonitions had seemed fanciful and romantic at the time, but now they feel only dreadful and condemning. Goddesses, he was only her age - if that.

Impa nods knowingly. "I am not surprised. It would be too much of a coincidence if all these puzzle pieces did not match up. All our hopes rest upon the boy now."

"But then where is he? It's been months and we've seen no sign of any Hero." Because he is gone, a strange thought says in her mind, he left to find... what? Zelda thinks she should know, but it sounded absurd, and the thought dissolves like a wayward sigh.

"He is very young. Perhaps too young to bear such a burden." Impa is silent for a moment, musing. "Yet the sword has not rejected him. I think the Sacred Realm has not released him yet. Perhaps in time, when it has deemed him prepared..."

How can anyone prepare for all this? Zelda bites her lip, hating the implications. Was Link facing trials within the Sacred Realm, was he imprisoned there until he has paid some price? "How long will it take?" she whispers. "How long will we have to wait? How long _can_ we wait?"

"I do not know this." Impa sighs again. "There was no mention in these texts of any trial or criteria required of the Hero apart from the Master Sword. It seems the prophets of lore were not much concerned with details and minutia."

"Then what can we do?"

"Keep hidden." The older woman's voice is flat and resigned. "Keep safe the royal bloodline, and the Triforce of Wisdom, until the Hero emerges."

"But that could be _ages_."

"What would you have me do, dear one?" Impa crouches down to her level, eyes glinting ember-red in the darkness. "I am Sheikah and I have many resources at my disposal, but a lone Sheikah can only do so much from the shadows. You and I do not have the capability to storm up to Ganondorf and put an end to his reign, else it would have been done much sooner. Our role is to Watch, and study, and wait." A firm hand ruffles her hair. "Hyrule will need a Queen to lead her, once all this is over."

"If there is a Queen to be had," Zelda mutters bitterly. "If she is not ancient and withered away in a dark room after centuries of waiting. Maybe Ganondorf will have withered away too."

"Keep patience and faith in your heart, Princess. The Sheikah prophesies may be vague, but they have never yet proven wrong."

"I hope so," Zelda mumbles, but her thoughts flutter back to Link—barely her height, barely of fledgling age, barely qualified to be a Hero—and she is suddenly unsure what she hoped of him. He was brave and bold enough to be a hero for her childish whims, to be sure, but _the_ Legendary Hero? It seemed a title too oppressively heavy to lay on anyone unasked, much less one as bright and smiling as he. And if one day he emerged from the Sacred Realm resenting fate, resenting _her_ —

A clamor erupts beyond the cottage walls. Zelda gasps, and Impa leaps for the door, bolting it and chanting a shimmer of wards across it in one movement. Shouts of warning and cries of distress sweep past their windows like gust-tossed leaves, followed by a flurry of voices thick with undeniable desert accents and weighted down by metallic jingles of bangles and blades alike. _Gerudos,_ Zelda realizes, panic rising in her throat as Impa snatches up her arm with an iron grip and pulls her away from the entrance.

"Village of Kakariko!" the shrill voice of a Gerudo woman rings out clear across the village square. "Our troop comes on behalf of the Great King Ganondorf to collect your tribute to Him. Bring out your goods of value now, and spare us the time!"

"You were here only a month ago!" a gruff male voice shouts back. "Doesn't your King know it takes time for crops to grow?"

"Why should we know?" the Gerudo voice snarls in outrage, and the dissenting man suddenly gurgles with pain—"No crop grows in the desert _you_ filthy Hyrulians exiled us to! Perhaps you would like a taste of desert hospitality? Should I bury you in the sand and leave you to the Vultures and Moldorms? Or should I save my time and just cut your tongue right now?"

"Please—" the man chokes, "I have family—"

"Everyone says that," scoffs the Gerudo speaker. "It is not a reason so special that I care. You want to bargain with family? You can exchange your life for the ex-Royal Family." Her voice lifts to address a wider crowd. "Any of you care to save this worthless coward _man_ ? Just lead us to enemies of the Great Ganondorf. The Princess, the servants - any drop of blood from the House of Hyrule is worth a bucket of _yours_ \- if you have any worth to trade."

"Stop it, please!" A woman's ragged voice tears through the din like a dull, desperate knife. "I... I know where there's someone from the Hyrule Court! Please let my husband go!"

Impa's hand tightens around Zelda's arm, and she begins chanting spidery things under her breath. What sounds like a brief scuffle flares and fades as quickly as it began, leaving only the clear-cut voice of the lead Gerudo. "Speak cleanly, woman."

"It's... it's my friend, Mika," the village woman's voice, now thin and untethered, is on the verge of hysterics. "She's been putting up a Hylian soldier in her house. Oh Bright Din please don't punish her! She just has a soft heart for the wounded!"

"I care not about your _Din_ ," spits the Gerudo. "Flush the Leever-grubs out."

More yelling ensues, Gerudo and Hylian and other unidentifiable utterances in a great cacophony of confused rage. Harsh crashes and curses marked the soldier's discovery and extraction, pierced by the keen wail of an older female voice: "How could you, Melia? He's just a boy!"

"Well well, not too bad on the eyes, for a pasty male," the Gerudo speaker drawls deliberately above the protests. "For a _traitor_. I will give you one chance, Hyrulian scum. Tell us where is the girl, Zelda."

"I wouldn't tell you even if I knew," replies the young soldier, valiant despite the pain in his voice. "My allegiance is to the Crown of Hyrule to my death!"

"Pfeh. So be it." A winded grunt from the soldier, as if struck in the stomach, before the Gerudo raises her voice again. "I don't like killing men, myself. Waste of breeding stock." Her words are accompanied by snickers and hoots from other Gerudos. "Fortunately, my companion here has no such caring. Lizalfos!" A grating, inhuman screech answers her summon. "Do to him as you like."

"They'll kill him!" Zelda squeals in a frantic whisper. "Do something, Impa!"

"I cannot," Impa replies tersely. "It will give us away."

"I'll stay hidden in here!" A scream rends the world with terror and helpless torment, a sound more agonizing and horrible than guards falling, her home burning, her father's blood flowing over his throne—"Impa, _please!_ " Zelda pleads, tears tumbling down her cheeks. But the Sheikah's steel grip upon her arm remained, and the man's yells die away into a nauseating gurgle, soon drowned out by reptilian sounds of satisfaction and—Nayru forbid—glee. _This can't happen, this can't happen, I am the Princess of Hyrule and this mustn't happen in my domain, please make it stop please save him please Din Nayru Farore..._

"Tch, so this is the renowned Hylian blood? Looks as filthy as any other." The Gerudo woman's voice rings out again to a chorus of cackles and jeers. "I could've told you that, Ishal!" a younger, sharper-sounding Gerudo yells out.

"Tell me earlier, Rasha, so I don't dirty myself in it next time." Another round of mocking laughter. "And as for _you_ , treasoning wench—" Two voices scream out at once, and one cuts off abruptly with a horrible mixture of sounds, and the other keeps screaming, and screaming...

Tears dripping furiously down her chin, Zelda clutches her ears trying to shut out the sound, and her mind's eye flees to the safety of the Temple of Time, to the bas-reliefed doors of granite, to the enigmatic steel of the Master Sword beyond them. _Link, Link, where are you? If you are the Hero, please come save us, we don't have any more time..._

" _You_ are spared, coward. Beg thanks from your woman for keeping your guts inside your skin," the familiar Gerudo voice cuts mercilessly through the muffled roar between her ears and palms. "Let that be a lesson to any of you who think to harbor enemies of the Great Lord Ganondorf. And remember this: you have always the choice to pay your tribute to your King in goods... or in Hylian blood."

A piercing whistle follows a sharp Gerudo command, and the hostile voices disperse into the distance, leaving only wails and laments in their wake. "They're gone," Zelda breathes in relief, dashing away from her nursemaid to unbolt the door. "We have to help—"

"No!" Impa hisses, and in a flash she is there, wrenching Zelda away with a sweeping jerk. They had barely fallen back against a dusty corner before an accented voice pipes just outside the wall, so close she could've been within arm's reach, "We're heading out, Nabooru!"

"I have orders to search every house," a woman's cold voice responds, and then their door crashes open.

The sudden sunlight blinds Zelda from making out much detail, but the figure who strides through the door is unmistakably and fiercely Gerudo, with cropped round ears and a dagger-sharp nose, clothes soft with silk and eyes hard like bronze. Impa's left hand grips Zelda's mouth as tightly as the curved knife readied in her right, smothering the whimpers Zelda would never have dared to emit. Maddeningly, vulnerably, her eyes flick to the scrolls still spread across the table, and feels an irrational wave of fear for them more than herself.

"Tch. Sand-blasted run-down shack." The woman's mirror-hard eyes slides over the room—over the scrolls—across Zelda's face—with the same uncaring disdain she would spare the sight of a diseased beggar, and she is gone like a hot breeze.

It is minutes or hours or centuries before Impa shifts from her side, and Zelda did not move even then. She watches Impa cautiously slide the door shut without attracting attention, and set the bolt into place, and whisper the shadow magic loose from one window to peek outside, and throughout it all she does not move at all, for if she held perfectly still, it might make up for her foolish impulse earlier, for the blood on the grass outside. She hardly even realizes that her teeth and fists and throat hurt from clenching until Impa is crouched in front of her and shaking her slightly by the shoulders. "Zelda. Princess. It is safe."

Safe. Could she ever be safe again? "How did she not see us?" Zelda whispers, not trusting her watery voice or their safety to more.

"Glamour and shadow; tricks for the weak-minded," replies Impa, her voice still as tight as her grip on the Sheikah dagger. "If I had left your side, you would be dead."

Dead, like the poor villagers outside those walls. Zelda fights back a wave of sickness. "Thank you Impa," she manages in a very small voice, and tries her very best to sniffle without making a sound. "I'm sorry I asked you to stop them."

"Never think that." Impa's hand catches her chin and raises her gaze to meet smoldering crimson eyes. "This was _my_ village, Zelda. These are my people, and each drop of blood shed here is tenfold upon my soul. But my life's sworn duty is to protect the Royal Family above all else. I have already failed the King, and that is enough to mark me soul-dead and exiled, were there still a Sheikah tribe to be exiled from. It would be upon all that remains of my life before I allow further danger to you, Princess."

"Impa," is all Zelda could say before burying herself in her nursemaid's arms, unable to stop the tears from overtaking her, just as surely she would be powerless to stop them the next time. Two more people dead for her sake. For her _mistake_.

.

The Princess Zelda wakes in a luxurious bed that is but should not have been hers, and wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sorry, this chapter was written before Skyward Sword and I hate writing prophetic-sounding stuff too much to rewrite it. It's not essential to the story anyway; you guys all know how it's supposed to go._


	7. Chapter 7

"You are not focusing, Highness," says the old, stringy tutor.

Zelda releases the breath she had been holding, and drops her hands away from the stubbornly unlit candle. "Yes... I know," she mumbles down at the table. "I'm sorry."

Mage Loethos makes a creaky sound in his throat, and peers at her through tiny fish-eyed spectacles. "Does some matter distract Your Highness? I know you are capable of producing the flame in its raw form, yet each time you approach the verge—the _cusp_ —of its refinement, you pull yourself away as if expecting to be bitten." He shuffles goose-like to the densely-scrawled slateboard, and underlines the same labored words for the dozenth time. "If Your Highness will recall, the essence of targeted magic is carried across the guiding ley lines, tangible to those who are sufficiently receptive - Your Highness being no exception, naturally. You need only seek out each strand of magic, and draw it hither-forth to your target, in order to..."

Zelda already knew the theory well - and the tangible proof, far too well. Even now the lines dance at the corners of her sight, tangled and taunting and shimmery dark. "They make me see visions," she admits faintly, "and they frighten me."

"But that is splendid," marvels the Mage, waxy fingers tugging at his wispy beard. "It's not unheard of, for the particularly gifted or enlightened to derive advanced Sight from prolonged contact with Ley-work. As a matter of fact, the reputed Arch-Priest of Leandre, upon receiving one such insight, caught himself in a fit of inspired fervor for _days_ , and furthermore..."

"I don't want to receive any more insights," says Zelda in what she thinks is a clear voice, but in the way ingrained to father-kings and learned men, Mage Loethos hears only what he expected of a coddled young Princess: sweet, dainty words as inconsequential as candy floss. He prattles ever-onward regarding the subject of fabled Sight-seers, and Zelda excuses herself politely, for it was time for tea and needlework, amongst plenty other things.

 _Dreams and illusions are the domain of womenfolk,_ her mother had been fond of quoting to her, laughingly waving away courtly men's curt demands for reasons and solutions they can catch with hands and strike with swords. But fever had taken the Queen years ago, before Zelda had time enough to learn all her secret wisdom, and so she turns once more to the other most-powerful woman in her life: her surrogate almost-mother, who is nearly as attentive, nearly as understanding, nearly as wise - if not nearly as lighthearted.

"More prophecies?" A sharp glare aims at her, like the primed edge of a half-drawn knife.

"I don't know," mumbles Zelda, wishing she had less childish words to offer. "They're not like my dreams from before. They don't seem to be sending me any specific message, and they're never the same, and... and they seem more like things that's happened - or _are_ happening, but..." She clenches her fists, feeling frustratingly useless. "I don't know what it means this time, Impa."

"Use this," Impa says, scooping from fluid shadow a spindly trinket woven with a pattern of twine. "It's a Sheikah dream charm," she explains, turning it in her hand so that the glossy dark stone at its tangled center catches the light with a crimson glint. "Charge it with a song of slumber, and let it guard your sleep. The web will snag the false shadows, and the Eye will show you to the truth within the unconscious dream realm."

But though Zelda hummed, and played, and crooned her lullabies with all her heart, and the charm's garnet eye glowed foggily as if responding to _(drinking up?)_ her proffered songs, her nights seemed no better warded, and the dreams came heedless of the lone bauble hanging from her bedcurtain. Over weeks, then months, they unfurled to her a grim tapestry of scenes from a stray lifetime, one where cruelty reigned and fear sapped strength from men and smiles from women; one where, she dreaded to admit, somehow—some way—she was to blame.

Yet court life in the waking hours remains calm and routine as ever, with no sign of even a chipped goblet or slipped horseshoe, much less any ominous augury she could announce importantly and officially. Zelda soon stops making mention of her dreams at all, for even if Impa has always a sympathetic ear open, she could offer up no new insight or usefulness while the dark dreams flowed uncaringly, despairingly on. Nights stretched long and lingering beneath fresh layers of ice and snow, and the dream charm dangled, dim and abandoned.

.

"Impa, I want to learn to fight," says her dream-self one day, when her Sheikah protector materializes in the now-familiar cottage, an armload of supplies trailing split-seconds behind.

"So you can tussle in the dirt like street children?" Impa spares her barely a glance before busying herself at one shelf, then another.

"No, like the soldiers of Hyrule. Like you."

"Certainly not." Impa did not even look back from her task. "You of all people should understand what's at stake. The utmost responsibility is upon you to safeguard the Triforce of Wisdom, since it's the only piece we can be certain has not fallen into the enemy's hands - yet."

"Then is it not even more crucial that I learn to defend myself - so that I may defend the Triforce?" Zelda edges her way to Impa's side, doing her best to stand tall and impressive at waist-height. "I can't stand cowering in the dark like this for the rest of my life. This is my kingdom, Impa. Father is dead. The Hero of Legend is gone. Who is left to fight for Hyrule, if not me?"

Impa hefts a sigh, and stoops down to cup her face. "Zelda, an eleven-year-old princess is no more qualified to 'fight for Hyrule' than any of the commonfolk in this village."

"But they can learn," Zelda insists, through the budding of frustrated tears, "and I can learn. Let me learn, Impa, so that I could at least someday become less of a burden to you, or to this village. They have already paid too much for the sake of a princess they've never even seen."

A weary smile creeps over Impa's face. "I may have taught you too well," she concedes, smoothing out Zelda's clenched brows with a gentle thumb. "Your reasoning is sound, my child. I know there may come a day when I cannot be at your side, when you must stand alone and unguarded. I speak with only the futile desire of an old nursemaid to never have you face danger or pain." She smiles again, this time with a resigned sadness. "If only it were that easy."

"I hope to never make you have to worry about those things again, Impa," Zelda replies, lifting a defiant chin to ease the lump at her throat.

"Very well," says Impa, in a voice mistier and farther away than usual. For a moment she lingers there, but suddenly she stands and smears her palm across the hearth, leaving behind a sizzling trail of dark symbols. "If you mean it, then speak this oath," she intones, hard and stoic once more.

Zelda stares at the string of characters, but each is a cryptic shape that resembles nothing of her letters, not even the calligraphy she had hated practicing. She looks back up at Impa helplessly. "I, I can't—"

"If you mean it," Impa repeats, face set like stone.

Zelda turns back to the symbols, each as cold and meaningless as ever before. _I do mean it. I want to fight. I want to learn._ The letters remain hard and unbudging in the dancing shadows, and her heart starts to sink, just a little. _I want... I really want to help—Impa and Link and everyone else—I want to stop people from getting hurt._

_(I want to **know** —)_

A flicker of firelight, and the letters change without changing. The knotted symbols remain alien all the same, yet as she scans them, words bob to the surface of her mind like eager fish. "I open my Eye to sights unseen," Zelda reads out loud, tentative and barely believing, "for I seek the path untouched by light."

"Look, and find it before you," Impa responds, her voice heavy with solemn pride. "Cower in the dark no longer, Princess. From now on, shadow will be your greatest ally."

.

"Impa, I want to learn to fight," Zelda says in a rare moment of solitude, minutes and passageways before handmaidens and attendants would sweep her back to a life of gold and lace. Supper was just past and night not yet taken hold, and it is safe enough to tempt the dream-shadows in the privacy of a tightly-wound stairway awash with liquid orange torchlight.

Impa comes to a precise halt, one skeptical eyebrow raised. "And what is the impetus for this?"

Already the script veered off-course. Zelda gapes, finding herself at a mortifying loss for words. "Well, um... in case Hyrule is... besieged... and I need to take up arms to... lead..."

Impa shakes her head dismissively, and resumes her long-legged stride. "Zelda, that is no duty for a princess. Or even a queen."

"But if I were a prince, would it not be expected of me?" She hastens to catch up, her words tripping out equally breathlessly. "If I were a boy—"

"Yet you were not born a boy, nor a peasant child, nor a Goron who takes rocks for his supper." Impa wheels around, her fire-light shadow flaring out like a mantle before her. "You have your place in life, young Princess, why do you seek to defy it all of a sudden?"

"I just... I just thought..." Zelda comes to a frustrated stop, trying to grasp the reasoning that came so easily in dreams. Impa was supposed to be proud of her for this. "I want to be stronger and... and protect the throne..."

"Academic fencing, then? I could arrange for the swordmaster to make room for you in his weekly sessions. You'll be able to properly lift the ceremonial sword when you come of age, at least."

"But I—" There is nothing Zelda could think to argue this logic, though it tears her heart in reluctant disappointment. _It wouldn't be enough to save the world._ She trembles rigidly on the stairs, unable to bear taking a step forward or back.

Impa arrives at her side, as soft as shadow, and lifts her chin with a callused fingertip. "Tell me the truth behind your desire, dear one."

"I want to be able to _do_ something," Zelda bursts out, nearly angry and nearly desperate. "For the Triforce, and for my kingdom. Father doesn't listen to me, I can't go outside the castle on my own - I can't even use magic anymore, because every time it brings back those visions and I..." She stops, shameful at her thoughts. What were dreams and illusions, to keep her shackled in the living, waking world?

"I don't want to be afraid anymore. Of those dreams, of the future, of the dark—" ( _Of tyrants and monsters, of blades or fire—_ ) "I want to learn the Sheikah arts. From you. I want to master the visions and shadows."

"That is no easy feat for one such as you, Zelda." Impa's mouth is stern. "Not for a Hylian, and certainly not for a princess unaccustomed to feats of strength and labor. Are you aware what you ask for?"

"I open my Eye to the sights unseen," Zelda says, the words coming to her in a sudden rush. "I seek the path untouched by light."

Impa raises her brows appraisingly. "Look and find it before you, then. Know that I do not teach the Sheikah techniques lightly, and I will not accept a pupil who recoils at the first taste of bitter hardship." She pushes aside the door atop the staircase, and the white-warmth of ivory lamps and chatty maids break into the hallway like day over moon-chilled grounds. "You begin at sun-up tomorrow."

"Thank you Impa," Zelda breathes, her heart blossoming, and remembers barely to curtsy before flinging her arms around her nursemaid's waist.

Strong hands pat her shoulders before ushering her into her chambers. "Be sure to not stay up late gossiping," Impa says with a wry smile, and shuts the door behind her.


End file.
